Of Power and Of Pain
by EEstelle
Summary: Evil is not born, it is made. It was no different for Bellatrix Lestrange. Friendships can not only be formed, they can broken. This was the story of cousins Bellatrix and Sirius Black. Told surrounding Sirius' death, the beginnings of perhaps the darkest witch of all time are revealed through various shattered memories. (Note: I tried to stay true to the time line.)


**Disclaimer and A/N:** I don't think I'm J. K. Rowling, so no, I do not own Harry Potter. Therefore, not all of these ideas are mine, and nothing is definitive. If you catch any inconsistencies, if you love it or hate it, if you just need someone to rant to, that is just fine and I would love if you would comment. If not, that's great too. Thanks for taking the time, and hope you enjoy it!

 **Of Power and Of Pain**

 **(What Spring Showers Bring)**

"Avada Kedavra!"

The shrieking voice echoed around the cavernous, spell-bound room, those terrible words piercing many brave hearts with fear. Everywhere, battles were raging as good and evil collided in terrible light. But this spell, this most unholy curse, rang above the others. Across the throng, the electric current raced, and few there were with a moment to see it. Yet, there, by the billowing veil, a shadow-man stood waiting. He might have seen the lightning, might have heard the words that tolled his final hour. He might have heard death whisper as it sailed directly at his heart. But all he could see was a phantom smile, hiding beneath the gargoyle grimace on the face of his murderess. All he could hear were the haunting words of a tortured past:

"It's over, Sirius. The darkness is here, and there's no turning back. Isn't this what you wanted?"

And then, the world fell to blackness.

 **XXX**

It was spring time, but the London morning was nevertheless dark and grey with rain, voluminous clouds rumbling across the dreary sky. Inside Number 12 Grimmauld Place, a baby cried, his dark curls wispy from the humidity, terror plastered on his round face. A bolt of lightning flashed, and with the subsequent thunder, the child let out another shrieking wail. From the parlor, Mrs. Black came scurrying, annoyance etched on her miserable brow. Grumbling loudly as she came, she barged through the door and made a bee-line for the little howler. Why, she couldn't help but wonder, had she ever bothered to have a child? He wasn't going to be of much use if he grew up afraid of everything. At least he wouldn't end up a filthy Gryffindor, but what's a Slytherin without a little ambition? Ambition isn't found in cowards. Picking him out of his crib, she pounded him on the back, jouncing him up and down, up and down, while saying:

"Now, now, just a bit of lightning, Sirius. No son of mine is going to grow up a spineless sap. Not my little pureblood..."

It sounded more frightening than assuring, considering her rough mannerism, but nevertheless, the child slowly stopped his caterwauling. Mrs. Black kept talking for a minute, before grunting, satisfied. That'd done the trick. Taking Sirius off her shoulder, she went to lay him back in his bed. Yet, the instant she did this, his face contorted and he began sobbing again. Ugh. She picked him back up, jostled him and ranted at him, and a second later, he quieted once more. She leaned down, but no sooner had she done so then he resumed his tirade. Two more times, and the same occurred. Becoming extremely frustrated, the mother held him up to her nose and, glowering, prepared to give him his first taste of some very choice words. Only then did she notice the child's smile as he peered over her shoulder with his big, red-tinged eyes. Turning around, Walburga Black was met with an open door. No one was there. She looked back at the boy, to watch the frown that had appeared on his mouth while she'd been distracted fade into that beaming grin. Puzzled and cross, she revolved again, just in time to see the hem of a crinkled, cream dress vanish behind the door-frame. Understanding dawned, and she bellowed, provoking a startled cry from the bundle in her hands.

"Bellatrix Black! You get in here on the double!"

From behind the wall, a small girl emerged, before hesitantly stepping into the room. Stormy light from the large window flashed on her pale face, her heavily- lidded eyes downcast, her black, matted curls attempting to hide her guilty expression.

"And what, pray tell, do you think you are doing?"

Bellatrix glanced up at her aunt nervously, before looking swiftly away. Her golden brown eyes seemed to fix on something in the corner, but she was rather looking through everything than at anything. What could she say? The eight year old girl hadn't been able to resist the tiny creature, so sad and alone. She felt like that sometimes. Sometimes, when the thunder was really terrible in the middle of the night, she used to cry, but that was before she became a big girl.

When she'd heard her cousin's screaming, she had acted on impulse. Sneaking from one of the upstairs rooms full of untouchable objects, she'd walked in just behind Madame Black. As she caught sight of Sirius, she'd given him a small, pained smile. His tears dried, and her smile grew. The more he had smiled, the more she had smiled. That is, until she'd been caught.

"Nothing," she whispered, but she was prepared for a beating. Children were to be seen and not heard in many homes, but not in Black homes. Among Blacks, children were not to be heard nor seen.

"Nothing? _Nothing_? You filthy little wretch. No better than a mudblood, you are. Get in the kitchen. We'll see how your father feels about his little liar."

Placing Sirius in his crib, though he was screaming louder than ever, Mrs. Black clipped forward, grabbing Bellatrix tightly by the arm and dragging her away. Wincing in pain, but saying nothing as she was lead out, she glanced once more at the baby's tear-filled, grey-blue eyes. She did not say or think anything, but she could feel something. In that moment, young Bellatrix felt something that she had never felt before. In that moment, right before she disappeared from view, she felt… but no. She felt confusion, and then, she stumbled off and the moment was gone.

 **XXX**

"Avada Kedavra!"

The words came, and with them fear. Lightning raced, and a boy watched it blazing. It was not coming for him, but he could feel it. It was not his curse, but it was his pain. Unable to do anything, the boy watched the woman's spite whizzing towards the last of his torn family. He screamed, and it echoed around the room. The witch cackled, shrieking laughter that faded into a deep, resonant throbbing. He lunged forward, but he could not move. He was almost hit, but he did not care. The world spun and the air buzzed, curses flew and voices rang, but Harry Potter was not there to see it. He was haunted by the distant past:

"Someday, Harry, we can be a proper family."

And then, the world fell to blackness.

 **XXX**

It was spring, and lightning danced in the heavy sky. In an upstairs room of Grimmauld Place, a ten year old girl with curly, dark hair cuddled into a corner, a worn, leather-bound book opened on her lap. Clutching it tightly, she breathed in the scent of parchment and smiled ever so slightly at the slanted writing and colored pictures on the page. Tracing the lines with her dirty, rough fingers, she read the words, absorbing every one as it told its beautiful story.

The book was one of fairytales, but they were not exactly typical. While she had, of course, heard the Tales of Beedle the Bard many times over, loved the adventures of Babbity Rabbity, and was captivated by all those stories which should make a young witch giggle, she was nevertheless intrigued by her new acquisition.

A few months previous, around the Christmas holidays, Bellatrix had gotten into some trouble, and not in the way you would assume. It was a long and painful story, but suffice it to say that Bella had decided one morning to free their house elf, and so she had. Much like Dobby, the house elf belonging to their neighbors, (the Malfoys,) her elf, named Moxie, had been very miserable. Bella's mother was not kind, she knew that more than anyone, and so when Madame Druella Black was out of the room, she had slipped Moxie one of her pink-striped mittens. Gratefully, Moxie squealed before disapparating. Her timing was… well, poor, to say the least. Madame Black was not pleased, and since that occurrence, her daughter had become no better than a house elf. Not that she was much more than that before, but if the situation could have become worse, it did.

So it happened that one day, Bella was sent to buy groceries. Snow had fallen- was falling, in fact- and the wind blew cruelly as she donned her cloak and left the warmth of the indoors for the frost on the street. Pulling the fabric more tightly around her, she shivered, hurrying as fast as her short legs would take her in the direction of the market. The trek was long, and there was only an hour or two before dark. Every few hundred meters, she would stop wherever she could- pressing herself into a building or huddling under an overhang, sometimes even ducking down behind a dumpster. To the shop and most of the way back she did this, before, about a ten minute's journey from her flickering, burning hearth, she burrowed in a space that was already occupied. Occupied, that is, by a certain book.

In any case, she couldn't bring herself to leave it. She was far too curious for that. The only problem was how to carry it. No, she corrected. That, and what her mother would say if her daughter came home with a muggle artifact. The book surely didn't belong to a witch. It didn't look to be magical at all. Trifles, she thought. And so she determined to come back.

Marking the spot, she went home, brought her mother the groceries, and fixed dinner, ate dinner, and cleaned up afterwards. The gravy was a bit burned, and the chicken tough, but her parents were forgiving. She was only called a mudblood twice, after which she was excused for bed.

On the bright side, not having a house elf anymore meant that there was no one to rat her out for sneaking away at a little past midnight. She pulled on two sets of clothes this time, as it was dark and it would be much colder, before again wrapping herself in her cloak and setting out to retrieve her prize. All the way home, she studied it, pausing for as long as she could (without freezing) beneath the lamps that lined the street. In her room, she lit a small candle, wishing that it was her birthday, and then fall, so that she could use a wand for this sort of thing. Unless, of course, her parents were telling the truth and magic was not allowed for underaged wizards and witches. Still, she longed for it, until her mind escaped pleasurably, a moment later, into a world entirely new to her. It seemed that her earlier assumption could not have been farther from the truth. The book, perhaps, was magic after all.

Back in the room at Grimmauld, Bellatrix stroked the picture on her current page carefully. Her work-worn hands made a slight scraping sound when she touched the painted hair and smoothed the painted dress, but she didn't care. This was Cinderella, as she had just learned, and Cinderella was a princess. Cinderella would never again have to do as she was told.

Yesterday, she'd read about a different princess. Her name was Snow White. In that story, though, Snow was not the character that most caught her attention. Rather, it was the villain, the Evil Queen, that she couldn't stop thinking about. Because the Evil Queen, much like herself, was a witch.

How much, she thought, she wished she could be Cinderella! To escape the endless chores, the endless dirt and dust and grime, the endless feeling of worthlessness! To never again be called a mudblood, and to be placed in a palace in a kingdom far away! Granted, she'd have to wear glass slippers, but it had to be better than being constantly yelled at. But no, how could she think such thoughts? Her parents were good to her. They were patient. When she was older, they promised she would be worthy of great fortune and titles, if she could just learn to do things right! If only.

But she was not Cinderella. She was a witch, and according to the story, she was supposed to be a villain. She could live with that, she thought. The queen almost lived happily ever after, she just wasn't very smart when she dealt with the dwarves. If she'd used a wand instead of a potion, maybe she could have won. She could have finished Snow White, and she already had a magic mirror and a castle and a kingdom and more beauty than any other could have hoped for. The queen had everything- she had power. Who needed a prince, anyway?

Maybe, Bella wished, closing her eyes and listening to the rain, she might someday have that kind of power. Maybe, just maybe, she could be a Slytherin- in her dreams, the best there ever was.

Clenching her eyes shut even tighter, tilting her chin back, and opening her mouth, she tried to imitate the picture of the queen, which picture held the caption: "The Witch Laughed." Trying to be quiet at first so as not to disturb any of the adults in the rooms below her, but gradually growing louder as she gained confidence, Bella began to laugh. She tried a low sound, deep and gravelly, but she didn't like how it felt, so she tried it again. This time, her voice sounded like a silver bell or a shrill whistle, so she stopped abruptly. Another go, and it became a guffaw, much like a donkey. A few more minutes, and she found it. Her voice was high, but not not too high, strong but not overbearing. It could only be described as a witchy, maniacal cackle. It echoed eerily with the perfectly- timed lightning.

She went to laugh again, but suddenly, she heard a noise over by the door. She opened her eyes and looked to see who had come, having temporarily forgotten the kind of trouble she would be in if one of the adults had heard her. She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she sighed deeply upon seeing just who had entered. It was Sirius, now two years old, and almost three, and he was giving her a sad, pouty look. Though he was apparently upset by her frightening laughter, she couldn't help but try it once more in response to his, unfortunately, hilarious state. Tears gathered in his eyes, as they so often did, and she immediately felt guilty. He went to dawdle off in that funny way that toddlers have, but impulsively, she called out.

"Sirius. I'm sorry. You don't have to go away." The little boy peered back at her, still not trusting her, but he didn't move.

"Sirius, I have a book. See?" She showed the faded writing and embroidery on the leather cover to him, before setting it down on the floor next to her and holding out her thin arms.

"Do you want to read with me?"

Toddlers are so forgiving. A second, and a smile had replaced his frown. It was the same smile, she thought, as the one he had given her years ago, on a day he no longer remembered. He tottered over to her, and she set him in her lap, placing the book on his knobbly knees.

The adults did not know or care where they had gone. No one ever knew of that moment but those two. But for a few hours, on a rainy day in spring, Bellatrix and Sirius were friends as they were filled with the joy of fantasy. For a moment, they shared something special, whether or not they ever remembered it.

 **XXX**

That autumn, she went to Hogwarts. She was a Slytherin, as she had so desired, and her magic was exceptional. She was not Cinderella, nor would she be. But, for a brief time, she was happy. For a brief time, there was a friend when she needed one.

 **XXX**

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was the flash, there was the lightning. The words echoed and the shadow watched. A boy screamed as the world spun. And there, inside his head, a portion of soul linked the sorrowing and the powerful.

In a place not far away, the man whose soul was severed laughed. It was a hissing noise, breathy and rancid, and he relished the anguish that the witch had caused. Another blood traitor was falling, and a trusted servant rose. From somewhere in the chasms of his mind came the words of their prosperous past:

"Here is power, my Lord. I will follow, if you will lead."

And then, the world fell to blackness.

It was spring again, for spring has the unfortunate habit of returning each year. At least, that was what Bellatrix had discovered. With every spring, she found herself spending break at her aunt's, and this week was no different. Here she was, holed in a room of untouchable things, and as it did most years, it was raining.

Sixteen now, Bella was used to the monotony. Yes, she was comfortable at Hogwarts. But the rest of the time, whether she was at home or at Grimmauld Place did not matter. Just one more year, and she could leave. One more year, and she would have her own life. Yet, by now, it didn't matter. By now, she knew it was hopeless. What good was being in Slytherin if she had no power? What good, if her ambition was fruitless?

Once upon a time, she'd thought that becoming a Slytherin would ease the tensions within her troubled home. Of course she'd been wrong; at least, mostly. It had been better, for awhile, but it seemed that misery was a way of life with the Blacks. Misery was how she was to live. Misery alone could fuel the hate that drove one to success.

A month ago, she had almost been convinced to believe otherwise. A month ago, she'd met the strange man. She had not accepted his offer. She had wanted to, but she had not. Above everything, Bellatrix had been taught one simple thing: uphold the name of Black. She seriously doubted whether following anything her gut impulses told her to do would qualify.

It was no secret that Bellatrix did not know how to feel properly. She was a strange girl, her relatives told her all the time. Bella did know about anger. Anger was how one displayed strength. She did know about jealousy. Jealousy was how one acquired great possessions. But she didn't know about the thing called love, or the things called happiness and selflessness. Every time she tried to label her feelings with one of these, she was met with ridicule and sneering taunts. Having gone an entire lifetime without really defining these emotions, Bella really never felt them anymore. Anytime she might have, she pushed them down. Anything she felt she hid beneath a stoic mask.

But one thing could bring Bellatrix out of her shell, and that "thing" was a person. His name was Sirius Black, and he was eight now. He was the only one she really knew who understood kindness, and it mystified her. She had no idea where he might have learned it, but she did not ask. Maybe people are born with it. If so, she definitely had not been. Nevertheless, being with Sirius made her feel… well, she didn't know… maybe he made her feel… alive. Or young. Or maybe, maybe… free.

That was the word that the strange man had used. Free. He had offered her freedom. Freedom, brought about through the only means she had ever heard of- power. And she craved power. Power was the great liberator that she did not have.

In the upstairs room, she sat on a leather chair that, until that year, had been off limits. Her long legs were propped up over the arm, her slim arms looped over the back, and her wand was waving listlessly in her hand. This year, her hair was well kept instead of wild. Her face was painted and her dresses always neat. Pressing her dark lips together in a sideways smile, Bella couldn't help but think back on that day and that man, and his tempting offer. With nothing better to do, she allowed her mind to drift into that memory.

The morning had consisted of a number of classes, which for Bella meant Potions, Arithmancy, and Transfiguration. The potion's master was a boring, goodie-two-shoes Hufflepuff who kept them busy making cheering potions and flower fertilizers, the arithmancy professor spoke so that his words were completely incomprehensible, and the transfigurations teacher was a strict Gryffindor that tended to clash with the Slytherins. In other words, it had been another red-letter day.

When lunch came, she didn't feel like eating, so instead of heading for the great hall, she decided to wander around a bit.

Her reasoning was simple: she wanted to be alone. Bellatrix didn't have friends. She didn't want friends. What she wanted was a place where no one would bother her, and she was always in need of a new spot. Every time she found one, it didn't take long for one of her fellow Slytherins, or perhaps a haughty Gryffindor, to find her, and she wouldn't have that. She didn't need the riffraff standing in the way of her peace and quiet. She couldn't risk the discovery of her muggle book.

On weekends and holidays, and in any down time she could find, Bella sought and found that corner, and she read. Though she knew she was too old, and though she had read the stories many times over, she couldn't help herself. The characters held the kind of lives that she never would. They had a purpose, they had a means, and they had happily ever after. In her mind, happily ever after was success. Happily ever after was everything. But they always told her that she was not good enough. And she didn't know how to disbelieve it.

And so it was that she sought her corner during lunch that day.

After searching inside for some time without luck, she finally decided to brave the cold and hit the grounds. Stopping in the dungeon common room to grab her cloak, she headed out a side door. The chilly air bit into her skin as she opened it and, bowing her head, set out, the heavy wood banging shut behind her. The frosted grass crunched beneath her feet, her hair slapped in her face, and she debated turning back. But no. The outdoors seemed to be saturated with that precious freedom. She headed off around the black-ink lake, reveling in the paper-white snow.

Finding a small cluster of bare-barked trees, she pulled her cloak up under her and sat down on the frozen earth. Her hood was up, causing her thick curls to bunch up in her face, but she didn't mind. It kept her porcelain cheeks warm. Porcelain, she thought, smiling. She liked to think, or maybe just pretend, that she fit in here, her stark contrast of dark and light blending in with the lonely world. Withdrawing her book, she opened it to the picture entitled "The Witch Laughed," and impulsively, as was her nature, she lifted her chin and cackled as she had so many times before.

"Someone's happy."

The voice startled Bellatrix, who immediately snapped her mouth shut, piercing her lips in a dangerous way, and swiveled to see who had spoken. She had already protracted her wand from her long sleeves before she saw the standing figure, but once she found that his hands were empty, she lowered her stance ever so slightly.

"What do you want?" She glared at him, still wary.

He spoke calmly. "I want to talk to you."

"Well, that's a novel idea. I never would have presumed as much." She responded unctuously.

"No need to be petulant. I know who you are, Madame Black, and I would think that above you and your family name. In any case, I have reason to believe that you'll be interested in what I have to say."

Though she was taken slightly aback, she did not show it, and she remained mostly indifferent. However, tugging at the back of her mind was the thought, " _Madame_ Black? Madame?" and she couldn't pretend, at least not to herself, that she wasn't pleased. Nevertheless, she maintained her composure.

"Who are you?" she inquired. She didn't bother to ask how he had known her identity. The Blacks were well known in the wizarding realm.

"Ah, you don't me. Well, I didn't assume. I am Tom Riddle. You may call me Lord Voldemort."

At this, Bellatrix stood to face him, staring at him fixedly instead of running like a Hufflepuff or fighting like a Gryffindor would. She took in his appearance in a single glance.

He was tall, at least a half foot taller than her now, and lean. She could only assume he was in his late thirties or early forties, but he seemed young none the less. He was pale, much like herself, and his hair was dark. All in all, there were many similarities, but the most pronounced was that of the look in his eyes. His deep-set eyes mirrored the calloused pain living in her own. And behind them, she recognized the defiance that until that moment, she had forgotten.

"I have heard of you," she conceded. The papers did say many things, how many of them were true, she did not know, but it would have been foolishness to believe he wasn't dangerous. Still, she was not in the least intimidated. Among Slytherins, he was an extremely popular name. Only the day before, Lucius Malfoy, (a third year that her second year sister Narcissa seemed to be quite taken with,) had declared to a number of them his intentions to join the dark lord.

"Then you know what I am about. You know why I am here."

"I didn't say-" but he cut her off.

"Lucius. He did tell you he was coming." She went to protest again, but stopped herself. She stared, and he returned her gaze.

"Yes," she admitted finally. "And you want to give me the same offer."

He smiled handsomely, so that it was almost a smirk. She wasn't witless after all. In fact, she was just the type he needed.

"You would be a death eater, in case you haven't heard the name. Our numbers are growing, and I need strong, capable purebloods like yourself. When the war comes, and it will, I need wizards and witches with power. You possess such power, Bellatrix. You are power."

Power. She was power, and power was all she had ever wanted. He had called her a pureblood, capable of entering a war as one of the chosen. She was speaking with the dark lord, Voldemort himself, who was rumored to be the most powerful dark wizard of the known world. And he was flattering her. But…

"I cannot. I am not free to engage in such things." She said it dully, not looking at him, but rather gazing into the sullen depths of the silent water.

"But I can make you free, Bella." With her shortened name, she looked at him through her heavy black lashes. "I can give you that freedom that you so desire."

"No." The words were wrenched from her lips. But she couldn't help but add, under her breath, "not now…"

She couldn't read his expression, but it might have been amusement, or incredulity.

"Someday, then. Until next time, Bella." Without another word, he walked away.

She no longer felt like reading, so she packed her bag again, ensuring the book was in the deepest pocket, and made her way, frigidly, back to school. She couldn't stop hearing his voice.

In the room at Grimmauld Place, she was brought out of her musings by the squeaking of the door. She looked up and was immediately met by a young boy flinging himself at her. She jerked back slightly, but not enough for it to be obvious, before a grin grew, unprovoked, on her mouth and up into the rest of her face. Straightening her expression again as quickly as the smile had come, she rolled her eyes and tried to be annoyed.

"Sirius Black! You mustn't go frightening the adults. What would Madame Black say?" She couldn't help remembering the dark lord at that, but she hastily pushed the idea away.

"You're no adult, Bella," he said slyly, flashing her a mischievous smirk. She tried to frown at him but found she couldn't.

"No, I'm not, popkin. How's my ickle Slytherin?" She teased him, sitting up and pulling him down beside her. She did the laugh, and he giggled. It had, by now, become a joke which the troublemaker much enjoyed.

When the laughter subsided, he crinkled his brow and spoke. "I'm not a Slytherin, Bella."

"But you will be," she atoned. "Blacks are always Slytherins. It's in your blood." She wrinkled her nose at him, waiting for his response.

He paused, and then: "What if I wasn't a Slytherin? What if I didn't want to be?"

Bellatrix' face fell, and she was temporarily stunned.

"But of course you want to be a Slytherin. We have power, and wealth, and cunning. What else could you possibly want?"

"I want to be brave. I want to fight the bad guys, and win," said Sirius, his expression bright, and then downturned when he saw the coldness that crept onto the face of his older cousin and friend.

"You don't need bravery if you have power. And good guys don't always win."

As she said it, she thought of her book of stories and remembered that, at least in fiction, good guys always did. But that was, she reiterated, only fiction. Not in real life. If that were true, she would know what it was to live "happily ever after."

"But of course they do," Sirius was protesting. "They have to."

"Wherever did you get an idea like that?" Her eyes were narrowed, and the suspicious look she usually reserved for those she detested was plastered on her face.

"Stories. And my friends," he said it bashfully, but then, cheerfully; "James- I met him just last week, but he's cool- he said that there are these people called superheroes, muggles have them, and they rescue people and do the coolest things…" He drifted off when he looked at his beloved Bella. "Are you sad?" he asked, and she peered at him, sadness pooling in her golden brown orbs.

"No, Sirius. I just thought you would want to be a Slytherin. Like me."

"I just want to be a hero. Heroes make people happy." She was silent. "You want to be happy, don't you?" She glanced away.

Then, "Yes, I want to be happy."

"Then be happy."

The solution was simple, so obvious, but yet, so unattainable and complicated. _Then be happy_ …

She thought back on that day, the day that Voldemort had offered her freedom, and power, and… hope. _Then be happy_. She knew what she had to do.

"Well, you'll always be my hero, sweet. My ickle popkin." She held him tight, thinking and ruffling his soft, dark hair. He smiled up at her. That smile. She would be happy. And though he might never know it, he had shown her how.

 **XXX**

Back on the grounds, during the week after she returned to Hogwarts, Bellatrix ran once more into the man they called Lord Voldemort.

He asked: "Are you ready for glory?"

She answered: "Here is power, my Lord. I will follow, if you will lead."

 **XXX**

"Avada Kedavra!"

She had done it. She had decided to kill him, though she supposed that had been her intent all along. The curse was flying, the incantation had been said, and her master would be pleased. She cackled, her signature sound, more gleeful and terrible than it had ever been before. She watched. She waited. She stood with bated breath, for soon it would all be over. Soon, the shadow's haunting face and biting words would fade away, disappearing with his untimely demise. Or perhaps, his overdue death. She would no longer be plagued by his vicious smile, their vicious past, in which he had spoken that vicious truth:

"You are lost to darkness, Bella. Your happiness is dead."

And then the world fell to blackness.

 **XXX**

It was spring time, and the dark lord had risen. He was power, and she had power. The rain could not take her triumph away.

Yet, something was amiss, for she was not happy. In fact, happily ever after was as far as it had ever been. But she didn't know that. She didn't know what happiness was.

She was an adult now, and she had been for some time. It was only on a rare occasion that she visited Number 12 Grimmauld Place, which rare occasion was virtually never, and so it had been equally long since she had last seen Sirius. Sirius, her hero, her ickle popkin, who was rumored to have done the very thing he had wanted and she had despised by becoming a lionhearted Gryffindor. It was the lowest of blows.

She had not visited since, not once, and he was seventeen now. For six long years they had been apart, during which time she had gained all she had ever hoped for. She did not read the book full of fairy tales. She did not wish to be a princess. She was a witch, and as such, she had donned the cloak and become a villain. She had embraced the insanity and taken power, for glory was hers after all.

When she minced through Diagon Alley that day, laughing beneath the pouring sky, she was inexplicably drawn to a shop she rarely visited anymore, Flourish and Blotts. Completely ignoring the repulsed or fearful looks of the passersby, and the muttered apologies for being in her way, she stalked through the door and into a world she had almost forgotten.

The smell of parchment overwhelmed her, but, as ever, she did not let it show. She brushed a clean, soft, pale finger across the leather spines of books and clinked her manicured nails on the assorted ink bottles. She pierced her lips in an appraising way and slowly made her way along the walls, glaring at any who caught her eye and laughing when they stuttered. Finally, after she was through looking and wasn't interested in terrorizing tourists anymore, she strode to the counter, grabbed the nearest book, and, without even looking at it, slammed it on the register.

"How much, mudblood?" Now, they were the mudbloods, not her.

"I beg pardon, mi…?" She cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"I said, _sweet_ …" Here she paused, drawing closer to him so that her curls hung over the counter. "How. Much."

The poor man gave a hasty response, clumsily punched in numbers when she gave him the money, and abruptly shut his mouth when he was through. Bellatrix huffed, satisfied, a twisted smirk plastered on her face.

"Thank you, filth. Most helpful." Without another word, she picked up her parcel and left. The room visibly sighed behind her.

No sooner had she exited, then she spied, through the crowd, a dark head of hair. The boy, or perhaps a man, was lean, and yet toned, and he walked with an heir of confidence that had been lost for most with the coming of the war.

She couldn't be sure, but he seemed familiar. Some extra sense told her who he was before she could really get a good look at him. Without thinking, she couldn't help but call out.

"Sirius? Sirius Black? Well, if it isn't my long lost cousin."

The young man paused, then, tapping another young man on the back, he turned slowly to face the voice that could only belong to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Bella. Or is it Madame Lestrange now?" His words were kind, but his manner was anything but. He seemed apprehensive, at least, and more likely, resentful. Apparently, absence had not made "the heart grow fonder."

"Bella, to you. Forgotten me already?" She teased, but he wasn't sure if it was a joke or not. The man that was with him just glowered at her, and she blew him a kiss.

"Who's the stooge?"

The other man had his hand on his wand now, but Sirius shook his head.

"James Potter. He's not a stooge. He happens to be my best friend."

"I was your best friend, once. But I don't expect you to remember that. You were just an ickle bitty baby, my little popkin." She was mocking him, but it was the truth. Deep down in a place she could not find, it hurt, as truth often does, but no matter. The past was gone.

"Potter, hmm? I know the Potters. Purebloods, they are. Always knew you could pick 'em." She turned to James, "Well, hello, handsome."

"You need to leave," James muttered between his teeth.

"My blood, my business. Stay out of it, pet." She said it, but she was not upset. She looked back at Sirius, but there was something in his eyes. It was something she recognized.

"James is right. You should go." A vein twitched beneath her left socket and her jaw tightened ever so slightly. A few other wizards and witches walked between them, but the idea did not leave her. The look in his eye was familiar, because it was pain. Pain, found in her eyes, and in the eyes of the dark lord. Lurking behind the pain was that same defiance… or was that what it was? She did not know it.

She did not know it, because the emotion was hope.

The two men went to walk away, and for a moment, she let them. And then (impulse never failed her) she yelled out.

"Sirius Black. Oi, Sirius Black!" He didn't turn around, so she clipped after them. "Sirius. You face me, coward, while you still can!" He swiveled, and there was fire in his ash-grey orbs. She stopped, rage playing in her visage.

"Isn't this what you wanted, coward? Isn't this what you wanted?" She shrieked at him, and more than a few of the shoppers started at her outburst.

"Isn't _what_ what I wanted?" He retorted, a little bit angry, but at the moment, more confused.

"Heroics! Happiness! You told me to be happy, and I am. You wanted to be a hero, and you are. You told me where to find it, you told me. You. Told. Me!" She screeched, and Sirius would have been surprised if the entire alley hadn't heard it. In that instant, he didn't care.

"You didn't have to do this. You don't have to do this. You chose the darkness, and this is where it lead you, and I guarantee you aren't happy. How could you be?" He was yelling back, but his voice was strong and controlled.

She was breathing heavily as she said, calmly this time, "No. It's over, Sirius. The darkness is here, and there's no turning back." She paused, then echoed: "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"No, it's not. I'm sorry for you. You have power, but you gave up happiness to get it. You are lost to darkness, Bella. Your happiness is dead."

When he walked away, she did not try to stop him. The pain was real, and she could not bring herself to say more. She was dying inside. In all her years as a death eater, she had never been sorry for her choice, and all the subsequent decisions she had made. But there, in the midst of Diagon Alley, she was sorry. She was sorry, for she had lost the only joy she ever knew.

In the ensuing weeks, she went from tearful and guilty, to angry and, frankly, insane. Her new book, entitled "When Witches Turn: (How To Calm A Cranky Witch)," seemed to taunt her, though harmless, and it was only a few days before she had torn it completely to shreds. She replayed that conversation so many times, her head spun and she couldn't sleep. What had happened to the little boy that she had so loved? What had become of her popkin, her little Slytherin? He had turned on her, she thought. He had betrayed the name of Black and the duty he had to their family. He had fallen from grace and abandoned his first, true childhood friend. He had given up on her happiness.

She determined he would pay. Now, in this new world, with this new Bellatrix, a deed did not go unpunished. Someday, Sirius Black would pay for the anguish he had caused, for the betrayals he had committed.

Through the years, Bellatrix did not forget. She rose in power with the dark lord, and she accomplished many great feats. She killed and she tortured, becoming particularly adept at the Cruciatus curse. She lived and thrived on the pain in their eyes, the pain she had known, the pain she had hated and so forsaken. In Azkaban, between agonous hours in which she was reintroduced to that pain, (though it had never truly left,) she thought of him and what she would do if she ever escaped. As her mind drifted away, her fantasies only grew more pronounced. She would take that happiness, if there was any left in him. If she could, she would keep it- if not, he would not have what she'd never felt. She fed on revenge, and she laughed. There was naught for the dementors to steal.

And then, she was free. And the dark lord was alive. She would get her revenge. She would have his happiness.

It happened on that fated night.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Bellatrix shouted, and lightning flashed across the echoing room. Light and Darkness fought with vigor, but fear enshrouded even the brave. From the corner by the veil, Sirius Black, the shadow-man, prepared to leave in silence. From a wall, the boy, so much like James, screamed in agonizing protest. Far away, a severed soul hissed, rejoicing in the evil.

It was for a second, and for an eternity, that haunting words filled their failing hearts. Trapped by the past and by memory, they stood, struck by the spiraling madness that lead to tragic ends. It was for a second, and for eternity. Rain fell on sorrowed faces.

The lightning struck, a fatal blow, and the figure sailed into the infinite. The wretched cackle permeated through the smoky air, leaving scars that would not mend. A soul was lost, and his happiness left.

A note to you, oh Bellatrix: Happiness is not something that can be taken. Happiness is given.

It is said in words that, once, we could not understand: Spring showers bring May flowers. But the showers are not made of rain, they are made of tears. The flowers are not those that grow in earth, but those that wilt in death. No destruction can rebuild her, not now that she is lost. No revenge can ever heal her bleeding, desolate heart.

So Sirius died, and we mourned, as we who love him always will.

And she, she who once loved him most, is his murderess.

Standing there beneath a weeping, spring sky, Bellatrix laughed, a hollow laugh, and smiled a hollow smile. She ran off, and, as light and darkness blended into grey, she sang:

"I killed Sirius Black, I killed Sirius Black!"

But Bellatrix-

Sirius Black killed you...

 **XXX**

 **A Final Word Of Poetry:**

Faded memories and moments

I'm remembering the rain

Soft showers, shattered lightning

And then the thunder came

When once beneath the tear drops

Of a living, sorrowed sky

I spied off through the pouring clouds

The whisper of goodbye

Thought I, there is no joy in this

There's no relief in rain

No love could mend a tortured soul

But power smothers pain

Forsaken by my childhood

True power I desired

I walked into the lightning, then

And stole the devil's fire

In turning, something turned too far

And hate destroyed my peace

Insanity enveloped me

The means of my release

I had not seen the thunder, then

When in lightning, or in tears

Love, however fleeting

Was forgotten with the years

I heard the clap of thunder

Lightning caused with my command

I saw the dying embers

Of my once-loved shadow-man

For a moment, I knew memory

I'm remembering the rain

Then, the past is gone

And madness claims

The hopeless one again

There was rain and there was lightning

From the storm, rainbows will rise

But living hope is lost for those

Who, with thunder, said goodbye...


End file.
